All Dogs Don’t Go to Heaven

The upcoming rapture was brought to our attention recently, and we at House of Vomitola took a break from sniffing nail polish and going through our couture archives long enough to say “Mmm, hey!” We held a conference call and shared some Power Point slides over Live Meeting, and we synthesized the conclusion that we really are fine with the world ending, as long as this development also halts the ceaseless wave of banality that comes part and parcel with life. Going to a lake of fire to fry sounds like a relaxing stint at the sauna compared to what we encounter most week days.

After we spent a good twenty minutes planning our outfits and what to have for our final lunch (curried butternut squash soup with crÃ¨me fraiche is good, but is it rapture good?), we realized that we probably aren’t in the rapture demographic. I didn’t get so much as an email or a text or Facebook invite about the rapture. I had to learn about it off a billboard. How impersonal!

Yet we saw opportunity, as we do. If we are going to be left behind, at least it will be with all the fun people! And the raptured, being the diligent sorts, will naturally have concerns about their interrupted earthly to-do lists. They probably won’t get properly onboarded for the first week post-rapture due to the sheer volume of the new work force, and they’ll be milling around Heaven, trying to set up their email accounts, while worrying about leaving the kettle on or feeding the fish. That’s where we come in.

For the paltry sum of $10,000, we will ensure care of your past life, such as it was. We can’t put lipstick on a pig, but we’ll shoot for status quo. We’ll putter around in the cinders, making sure your dog is walked and regularly de-wormed (dogs and worms don’t have souls, and thus they are immune to rapture). We’ll take the newspapers off the stoop, stop your mail and cancel cable, and board up windows in case of zombie attacks. We’ll tap our extensive network of alcoholics and vagrants and musicians to edge the lawn and detail the burned husk of your car once a week. We’ll send rapture announcements to all your no-account friends and family left behind, and we’ll keep up with your birthday and Christmas cards list. We’ll even tweet about possible meals you would have consumed, if you still roamed the Godless shell of a planet.

So get those cashier’s checks ready before close of banking hours on Friday. Unless you use Bank of America, and then I am sure they will still be open Saturday. Please note, in the event that the rapture is postponed due to a conflict with common sense, no refunds will be available. For an extra $5,000, we’ll escrow your insurance payment, paying all interest to ourselves, until the date of the actual rapture.